by Harper Lin
“Take me to your car. Quick,” Becky said as lightheadedness washed over her and her legs gave out.
Before she could hit the ground, Adam slipped his arms around her and lifted her up. Holding her close to him, he took her out of the cemetery and placed her gingerly in the passenger’s seat.
Chapter Twelve
“Becky. Sweetheart,” Adam whispered. “Here. Lift your head. Take a sip.”
Becky felt the cool metal neck of Adam’s flask against her lips. She let him pour the whiskey, and she swallowed quickly. The rush of burning bourbon made her cough, and she was glad for it.
“That’s my girl,” he said. “Come on. Open your eyes.”
Becky did as she was told, and her eyes fluttered open.
“What in the world happened? We were just bumping gums, and then everything just tipped over. I feel like a flat tire.”
“You scared me,” Adam admitted.
His eyes were wide, and even though Becky wanted to set his mind at ease, she couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of being in his arms and hearing his heart pounding through his shirt.
“I’m all right now.” She scooted up in the passenger’s seat and looked into the cemetery entrance. “We’ve got a problem. But I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Me neither. But if going into that place is like a dry gulch to you, then sweetheart, I want you to stay away. At least don’t go in by yourself.”
“I’m usually never by myself,” she muttered. “But lately there hasn’t been anyone to come see me.”
She didn’t think Adam knew what she really meant—that the spirits she’d grown to know and care for were not paying her any visits. It was as if they were hiding or worse, being prevented from coming out. They were prisoners in their graves. The thought of that broke Becky’s heart.
“Promise me you won’t go in by yourself. Take Fanny or…”
“Fanny? You’re off your rocker. I wouldn’t take her temperature let alone take her into this place,” Becky snapped, quickly regaining her composure.
“Yikes, gal, forget I asked. Just promise me you won’t go by yourself.”
When Adam looked at her with his deep blue eyes, she let out a little sigh. “I promise.”
“Good, now let’s get you home.” He leaned back in the driver’s seat, started the engine, and started to pull away.
“Better drop me a good ways from the front of the house. The last thing you need is Kitty or Fanny catching a glimpse of you dropping me off. They’ll run to Daddy and have all sorts of tall tales to report to him.”
“Do you think your father is a reasonable man?” Adam asked as he whipped around the dirt road.
“He’s the most. My daddy knows more than any man I’ve ever met. And you know he doesn’t have anything more than a second-grade education. Yet look at all this. I swear he’s got tobacco in his veins.”
“I look forward to meeting him.” Adam smirked as he hit the gas, making Becky squeal and laugh.
He finally dropped her off behind a patch of trees so she could sneak back to the house without anyone taking notice. But not before kissing her again. It was hard for her to pull away from him, but with one last kiss and the promise to see him soon, Becky dashed off toward the house.
Just as she was about to start her ascent of the trellis to her room, a familiar voice came from the bushes.
“Becky and Adam sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Teddy said, tipping his straw hat down over his eyes as he sauntered over.
“What are you doing here?” Becky asked.
“I’ve come to rescue you.” He jerked his thumb toward the house. “After spending the evening with Martha and your cousin, I’m all in.” He rolled his eyes.
“So that was you I heard driving away early this morning. I was sure I recognized the sound of that old flivver.” Becky winked. “But I was too far inside the tobacco field to flag you down, or else I would have.”
“In the tobacco field?”
“It’s a long story.” Becky shook her head and patted her finger waves into place much like her mother did when she was worried about something.
“I got the time. What you say we blow this pop stand and go pick up Martha?”
“I say let’s make tracks before someone sees us.” Becky felt a twinge of guilt at leaving the house without saying good-bye to her mother or giving her the slightest hint as to where she was going or with whom. But after their “conversation,” Becky didn’t feel it was worth telling her mother where she was going. She’d disapprove no matter what, and she’d have Fanny to reassure her of Becky’s bad decision-making.
Once they passed the sign that read Welcome to Poole County, Becky let out a sigh of relief. It was as if there was something hanging over not just the Mackenzie plantation but the whole area, and Becky was finally free of it. She knew it was all in her head. The fight with Kitty was the primary culprit.
Seeing the Bourdeaux estate and Martha sitting on the porch with a tray of mint juleps at her elbow was enough to make Becky forget all her troubles.
“Quite frankly, Becky, I don’t know how you tolerate that cousin of yours,” Martha said as she sipped her cool, minty bourbon. “I certainly didn’t mind that she wanted to tag along, but what a drag.”
“Is it true that Adam’s carrying a torch for her?” Becky knew if anyone would tell her the truth, it was Martha. And she braced for it to hurt. Even though Adam had said he wasn’t interested in Fanny, Becky wasn’t a hundred percent sold.
“What? Who told you that? Let me guess: Fanny.” Martha rolled her eyes.
“She said he took her around the floor and that her feet barely touched the ground because he was holding her so close,” Becky said after taking a sip of her own mint julep.
“Ha! Her feet didn’t touch the ground because she was smashing the poor palooka’s toes with every step. Becky, I’m saying this as your best friend. She might be put together like a sheba, but she doesn’t hold a candle to you when it comes to cutting the rug. And most guys want more than just a dame on their arm.”
“Says who?” Teddy interrupted with his eyes closed. He was sitting on the porch steps next to the swing with his back against the porch railing.
“No one is talking to you, Mr. Rockdale,” Martha quipped.
“Look, Becky, you know I love you, darling. But as distasteful as you find your cousin, she certainly knows how to run in the races. In fact, I’d put my money on that filly any day.” Teddy chuckled.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s not running on all cylinders.” Martha poked him with the toe of her shoe. “Fanny is just a tomato, and anyone who spends more than five minutes with her can figure that out.”
“I’m just being honest.” Teddy reached up to tickle Martha behind her knee, making her squirm and swat at him.
“I don’t begrudge the woman her looks. But when she’s talking out of turn to Mama, well, that just tans my hide.” Becky finally flipped her hair behind her and took a sip of her drink. “I don’t want to talk about her any more. She gives me indigestion.”
“Martha, dear?” Teddy stood from the porch steps and bowed deeply.
“Yes, Theodore, sweetheart?” Martha replied.
“Does your mother have any more of this sweetened noodle juice inside?” he asked with a sly grin.
“Of course. It’s like the Sahara Desert out here today.” Martha fanned herself. “Would you mind refreshing our glasses, too? You are so dapper.”
“For you ladies, I’d lasso the moon,” he replied. “Try not to miss me while I’m away.”
“It’s not you I’ll be missing but the mint julep,” Becky teased.
After a deep laugh, Teddy disappeared inside the house. Becky scooted closer to Martha on the swing and began to tell her about what she had seen at the Tobin place.
Martha gasped. “Becky! Now I don’t think you are running on all cylinders.”
“Keep your voice down. I don’t want Teddy spilling the beans
to Kitty and Judge.” Becky put her hand on Martha’s. “Look, I need you to come with me.”
“Come with you where?”
“Back to the Tobin place,” Becky whispered.
“Back? Why in the world would you want to go back?” Martha grimaced.
“Mr. Tobin went to check on something in the woods. I want to know what it is.”
Becky was sure it had something to do with the men whose lips were sewn shut or the buried stiffs in the shed that turned out to be not so stiff.
“Becky, sometimes the mysteries of life are better left as mysteries,” Martha replied and squeezed her friend’s hand. “And that woman they have in their employ? I’ve seen her around town. I don’t know a soul who has ever spoken with her. Even when she accompanies Mrs. Tobin, I don’t see them speak. But there is something odd about that woman.”
“She was in my graveyard,” Becky said. Martha had no words and looked into Becky’s eyes. “She was in my graveyard…digging.”
It was as if an unspoken rule had been broken. Martha, like Teddy, knew of Becky’s feelings toward the Old Brick Cemetery and those buried in it. The idea that an interloper had decided to plant stakes in the sacred place that Becky had named herself protector of, well, it was an affront. From the look on Becky’s face, it was even more than that. It was a shot across the bow.
“I was sure Mr. Tobin was heavy-handed with Mrs. Tobin. That would explain why she fled to the arms of Mr. Ruthmeyer, if she indeed did do that,” Becky said. “But when I heard their conversation, I had to pick my jaw up off the ground. Sure enough, he was browbeaten by the lady of the house. So I want to know what he’s got going on in the woods where he seeks solace.”
“You’re probably going to be sorely disappointed. I’ll bet my new silk stockings he’s built himself a shack back there and has it stocked with bathtub gin and girlie pictures.” Martha chuckled.
“I hope you are right. So you’ll come with me?” Becky asked.
“You know I can’t let you have all the fun.” Martha leaned into her friend, and they touched foreheads.
“Break it up,” Teddy said, returning with their drinks.
The rest of the afternoon was pleasant. The trio picked up Fanny that evening and went out to Willie’s speakeasy. Becky and Martha had agreed to go snooping the following day while the sun was up. But it turned out the sun provided very little comfort or cover.
Chapter Thirteen
Becky took a deep breath as she waited on the front porch for Martha to arrive. Over and over in her head, she went over the path they would take, where they would leave the car, how far they’d have to travel on foot, and what to do if they were discovered. That last part Becky put out of her mind quickly. Thinking of the worst-case scenario often led to that thing happening, so she pushed it aside.
Oh, you know that Martha is probably right. Mr. Tobin probably has an old shack out there with heaven knows what kind of junk in it. It’ll be a big bust.
Still, her own words didn’t bring her any comfort.
She peeked in the front door and squinted at the grandfather clock. If Martha didn’t hurry, Fanny would be up from her morning nap, and Kitty would insist they drag her with. The whole plan would have to be scrapped for another day, and something inside Becky made her feel there wasn’t much time left. She didn’t know why she had that feeling, but it was there, and it was relentless.
“Finally,” Becky sighed as she saw the dust kicking up at the end of the long drive. She scooped up the large picnic basket that had a few snacks from Lucretia tucked inside and also a change of clothes. There was no way she was going to ruin another outfit and have to explain it to her mother.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Fanny said through a long yawn.
Becky’s body slumped right after she froze in her tracks. “Martha asked me to run a couple errands with her.”
“Did you tell Aunt Kitty where you were off to?” Fanny asked, looking down her nose at Becky as if she were wearing a crown.
“My mother doesn’t need to be bothered every time I blow my nose,” Becky replied. “I’ll be back in an hour, two tops.”
“I’ll run and tell her you’re leaving,” Fanny said as if those words would somehow get Becky to change her mind and stay put.
“I’m sure you will,” Becky muttered before marching in Martha’s direction to meet her halfway down the driveway. As soon as she hopped into the car, Martha turned the wheels, pulled forward, backed up, ground the gears, and stepped on the clutch, making the jalopy jerk and stop before finally getting the machine to lurch forward and keep going.
“Are you going to be in trouble?” Martha asked.
“Seems like I always am. Why should today be any different?” Becky smiled and pointed down the dirt road in the direction of the burnt remains of the Ruthmeyer farm.
They chatted normally for the first mile or two, but by the time they parked the car in a patch of bald cypress that had grown wild and provided an almost impenetrable cover, they realized how nervous they were.
“I can’t believe we are doing this,” Martha whispered.
“What else would you be doing today?” Becky grumped. “We go into shantytowns and down dark alleys for a joint with dancing. This is a slice of peach pie compared to that. And we do all that in heels. Here.” Becky handed Martha a pair of flat shoes with cleats on the bottom that she’d swiped from her basement.
“What am I supposed to do with these?” Martha chuckled.
“Eat them. What do you think? Put them on. They were my father’s when he tried to play golf. Turns out Daddy doesn’t have the patience to swing a stick at a one-inch ball to knock it into a hole a mile away,” Becky joked.
“Who would have thought that?” Martha laughed. “Your father trying to golf is like a gator trying not to have teeth.”
“Okay. Now, put this on.” Becky handed Martha a hat.
“Are you crazy? I just had my hair done.”
“Martha Bourdeaux, if you don’t put this hat on, you are going to get burrs in your hair, and they will have to shave your head bald. Now take this.” Becky thrust the hat at her again.
“Oh, if I have to, let me wear the Panama. I look just dreadful in a poor boy.” She wiggled her fingers at the tan Panama hat Becky had in her left hand and waved away the slouchy, baggy poor-boy hat Becky had in her right hand.
“You are too much,” Becky said, quickly slapping the poor boy on her own head and stuffing her red locks deep inside.
“See, now, you look like the bee’s knees in that. I’d look like Tugboat Annie.” Martha stuffed her hair up in the Panama hat, cuffed her pants, and polished the tops of her golf shoes on the backs of her trousers. “I’m ready.”
“You look adorable. Considering we are playing at private detecting, we look swell. I like these trousers. They give you room to move.”
Martha wiggled her hips.
“Well, you are the cat’s pajamas. I think Teddy would be impressed. Okay, let’s cheese it and get moving.”
Becky and Martha quietly and carefully slipped into the woods, heading in the direction of the Tobin place. It was cool in the shade of the trees. Their loose clothes managed to keep any bloodsucking insects off their skin. Squirrels and birds skittered through the grass and leaves at an almost constant pace that helped to muffle their footsteps.
All of a sudden, the forest grew darker. A low ceiling of clouds appeared and blanketed the whole sky. Martha sniffed the air.
“That’s funny. It hasn’t smelled like rain all day. Now, all of a sudden, it smells like we’re going to need to build an ark,” she whispered.
“Look there.” Becky pointed. It was the Tobin house, perched on that hill and looking down at them as if it had eyes in the windows.
Martha shimmied. “It gives me the heebie-jeebies. I’m starting to think this was a bad idea.”
“We won’t go anywhere near the house,” Becky said. “Mr. Tobin took off from the porch a
nd ran into the woods there. Let’s get behind whatever he’s got planted in there and see what we can see.”
Martha nodded and followed Becky deeper into the woods. Along the way, they both started to notice thick sticks with orange paint sticking out of the ground at what looked like random intervals. Just as Martha was about to say something, they both froze. Voices. Male voices. The women crouched and listened.
“I’ll have more in about two weeks,” one voice said.
“Earl, I really could use some of that now. I know you got plenty in the still, and I know you are goin’ to sell it. Why not to me? My money is just as good as anyone else’s.”
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Gavin. You see, I know my wife had been down to your shop, and you didn’t barely accommodate her. Now, as I see it, that ain’t the way a man does business. So now you’ll see how it feels to be high-hatted.”
“But Earl, that was just a misunderstanding. I didn’t know your wife had felt that way. I…thought…she was…”
“You thought the same as the rest of the people in this town. That she has a bad reputation on account of that Ruthmeyer. You thought she was loose. We’ll see what the town folk say when they see R.H. Gavin himself greet my wife at the door of his very own general store.”
“I could report you. The coppers would love to know where this still is. They’d have you behind bars in violation of the Volstead Act faster than you could slap a tick,” Gavin said with a shaky voice.
“You threatening me?”
Suddenly there was movement farther back in the trees. Becky and Martha took hold of each other’s hands and stayed perfectly still. Through the brush, they could see the trousers of the men talking. Becky peeked her head up slightly. She saw a dirty gray metal container balancing on a bed of bricks. A coiled dirty black tube ran from the container to a barrel that was connected to another barrel by a copper tube about four inches around. A fire smoldered under the metal container. Black soot covered its bottom.